


I've Got This

by inkstainedwretch



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, Choking Kink, I can't believe I wrote this., Let's Comfort Elliot, M/M, Mercury is in retrograde and that's my excuse., Please be nice I have no idea what I'm doing., Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Pseudo-Incest, Tyrell Doesn't Have A Clue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 07:36:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkstainedwretch/pseuds/inkstainedwretch
Summary: Mr. Robot is keeping things from Elliot again, but this time he’s a little more willing to share.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t ask me when this takes place. I haven’t even finished Season 2, this just sort of happened. The second chapter was very much inspired by [this tumblr post](https://tyrellibot.tumblr.com/post/151406272165/ohoho-well-mr-robot-watching-elliot-and-tyrell).

“What the fuck was that.”

I toss my phone onto the desk and turn to face Mr. Robot, still leaning on the wall looking way too casual. He’s looking at me over his glasses, the way my dad – my _actual_ dad, not this…thing – used to look at me when he knew something I didn’t. I kind of hated it. I really don’t like it coming from him.

“Don’t give me that shit. What did you do?”

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, which I hate even more. The answer to that one is sort of obvious – there are only a couple of things that could lead to what just happened. On the phone, Tyrell Wellick’s voice right in my ear, _Bonsoir, Elliot_ , talking more pleasure than business. And then right before he hung up, a soft sigh followed by _I love you,_ and it sounded too casual to be the first time. I could hear the smile in his voice.

“You really want to know?”

“ _Obviously._ ”

He just shakes his head.

“Fine.”

And then, I remember.

I remember standing beside the popcorn machine, watching Tyrell run a hand through Mr. Robot’s hair. Watching Mr. Robot looking at the monitor in front of him, not reacting. Watching Tyrell look down at him with shining eyes, speaking softly, gently.

_“You magnificent thing.”_

Robot turning from his computer screen to face him, giving him a half-smile, looking way too calm for how close Tyrell is getting. Tyrell’s hand moving down to his cheek, down to his neck, his eyes still full of wonder. Robot likes it. I can’t feel anything. I’m standing right in the middle of it, and I can’t feel anything.

 _“You amaze me,”_ Tyrell’s smile is too real, too genuine. _“So many people in this world with too much power, and you’re the only one who knows how to truly use it. Oh, I love you.”_

There it is.

Mr. Robot kisses him. Tyrell is elated, he’s hauling Robot up by the jacket and holding tightly onto him. They’re pulling their clothes open, faded jeans and a suit worth more than my life. Tyrell gets him up against the Galaga cabinet and kisses down his neck, little hungry noises keep escaping him, and Robot’s hand fists in his hair. I can’t feel anything. I’m just the audience.

They’re both hard enough to spring out, when the clothes are completely open. Robot gets a hand around both of them, stroking, letting them slide against each other. Tyrell shivers, bites down high on his neck, too high to hide under a shirt. So, that’s where that came from.

“ _Fuck, Elliot.”_

He’s not talking to Elliot. I still can’t feel anything. I mean, I’m feeling jealous, angry, so turned on my pulse is in my fingertips, but as far as sensation goes, nothing. Tyrell kisses him so tenderly, even while their hips are moving frenetically below, and I’m furious that I can’t feel it. Mr. Robot’s just as gentle, threading his fingers through that ghost-blonde hair, and I’m even angrier that I can’t feel that.

I can’t tell whose place I want to take more.

Tyrell keeps talking, right into his ear, _you’re incredible, you feel so good, I love you_ , breathless and desperate. And the whole time, I’m standing by that damn popcorn machine, seeing everything, feeling none of it. Even when Tyrell kisses him hard, when he comes gasping and his head hits the cabinet behind him, I feel _nothing_. It’s like they stole each other from me.

My hands are clenched so hard when I come out of it, I feel my nails about to cut the skin. I don’t think I’ve been this angry since I realized I’d forgotten Darlene again.

Mr. Robot looks almost bored, now. I stand up, push him against the wall and hold him by the shoulders, as though I think that’ll keep him from escaping.

“What the _fuck_ was that?” I kind of wonder what this would look like to someone else, if it would be like the café again. “Why did you do that?”

“Why did I fuck him, or why didn’t I let you feel any of it?” He’s way too calm. I hate it.

“I know why you fucked him,” I roll my eyes. “Why did you make me forget?”

“You’re not ready,” he looks at me like he’s trying to help me, which I hate even more. “You want it, but you’re not ready.”

“Not ready for what?” I let go of his shoulders, because that doesn’t make any sense.

“He meant it,” he glances at my phone, where it’s lying on the desk by my keyboard. “Every damn word of it, and you’re not ready to believe him. You aren’t ready for that kind of sincerity, because you don’t think you deserve it.”

…unfortunately, he has a point.

When I woke up with that hickey, I didn’t even think it was a hickey. I thought I’d just fallen out of bed and hit the dresser again. It couldn’t have been from a bite, from somebody touching me, because I hadn’t spent half the night curled in on myself, so overstimulated that even the bedsheets hurt my skin. I hadn’t been kept awake by the recent memory of someone’s voice, saying kind or passionate or even just positive things to me that I couldn’t bring myself to believe. I didn’t feel vaguely sick from the memory of a kindness I wasn’t meant to feel.

“See?” Mr. Robot rubs my shoulder, and it doesn’t feel like sandpaper the way it does with other people. “This is what I mean. Imagine if you’d been awake for that. You’d have flipped your shit the minute he started talking, and we both would’ve lost our chance.”

“Is that why you threw me out?” 

“I didn’t throw you out. You were asleep when I went to the arcade. I didn’t expect you to wake up.”

“You son of a bitch, you’re _still doing that_?” I push him back against the wall.

“Look, I knew you wanted it.” He puts his hands up. “You still do, but you can’t handle it. If you want to be able to feel it next time, you’ve gotta move past this.”

 _Next time?_ I hadn’t even thought of that, but with the way Tyrell was talking, it doesn’t sound like that was meant to be a one-off. Something pulls in my chest at the idea of feeling it, Tyrell looking at me and actually seeing _me,_ when he says it. I feel cold adrenalin in my stomach just thinking about it. I want it, but I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. It’s like showing my hand, like taking off a mask to expose the weak, breakable thing underneath. It’s inviting an attack.

“Hey,” he steps closer. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

My eyes focus again. He’s moved his hand to my cheek, and it isn’t too much. It doesn’t feel too hot, too clammy, too close. It feels real, though. It always does.

“Here,” he winds his hand around the back of my head, “come here, we can work through this.”

I know what comes next, because it’s me, he’s me, this is all me. He’s just an extension of what I want, whether or not I know it, whether or not I’m ready.

So, I don’t jump when he kisses me. I don’t feel that pinch in my gut of _do I really want to do this or do I just think I should_. I never do, with him. This isn’t the first time this has happened. That was a while ago. Didn’t make me as sick as I thought it would. It feels safer this way.

“Don’t overthink it,” he whispers, and this time I’m the one who kisses him.

They need to invent a new word for how fucked up I am.

“Come on.”

He leads me back to the bedroom, doesn’t let go of me for a second. I stop when we get to the doorway, feeling vaguely panicky. Dunno why, it’s not like a splinter of my personality wearing my dead father’s face is trying to take me to bed, or anything.

“What are you doing?” I ask, like I don’t already know.

“You want to feel it next time,” he says. “So do I. I don’t have to throw you out to feel what you’re feeling, kid. But, you’re gonna need to show me you can handle it.”

He kisses the corner of my mouth, and I kind of like it, and I kind of want to punch him. I’d wonder why he thinks he’s in charge, if I didn’t know better.

“I’m not gonna let you fuck this up because of your self-esteem issues,” he smiles at me. “I mean, it helps that you’ve been wondering on and off what it would be like to fuck me. If I could even do it. I _can_ , by the way.”

I sigh heavily. “If you’re gonna be this much of an asshole the whole time–”

“Nope,” he claps a hand on my shoulder. “You’d be way more comfortable with that, huh?”

He slides both arms around my shoulders, and he gives me another one of those soft, slow kisses.

“You’re gonna have to deal with the idea of someone loving you,” he murmurs. “Because he does, in his weird, unstable sort of way. Thankfully, so do I, so this is easy.”

I laugh, just once. He kisses me again, pulling me close and getting a hand in my hair.

“I mean it,” his fingers comb lazily through my hair. “You’re the whole reason I exist. You gave me purpose. You gave me _life_. You gave me the face of the one person you wanted to love you the most.”

Oh, that was a cheap fucking shot.

“I kind of hate you right now,” I say, but I don’t move.

“Yeah, you usually do,” he grins, “but you want me. I can feel it. It’s up to you, son. Just say the word, and it’s yours.”

See, this is the kind of shit I can’t tell Krista about. She’d just tell me to acknowledge that it isn’t real, disengage, stop responding to him, and for god’s sake don’t take him up on his offer. I _really_ don’t want to do any of that right now.

“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

He’s surprisingly gentle, when we get into bed, doesn’t shove me around or anything. He just pulls my jacket off, pulls everything off, and without me doing anything his clothes start to disappear. I don’t think I’ve done this with him before. If I have, I can’t remember. He wasn’t wrong. I’ve thought about it…a lot, but I don’t think it’s ever gone this far. Oh man, I hope he doesn’t disappear.

The air is cold on my skin. Mr. Robot’s hands aren’t quite so cold, but they’re a little rough, a little calloused on his fingers from handling screwdrivers and circuit boards. Oh god, there’s something I don’t want to think about. Why am I doing this? I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t have ever thought about it. No matter how lonely I got, no matter how my nerves got all frayed when somebody else’s hands were on me, I never should have even considered this.

“Elliot.”

He’s looking right at me, half-concerned, half-getting tired of it. We can’t keep doing this, it’s sick. I’ve already gone too far. This is crossing a line. Something’s wrong with me. Something is _wrong_ with me. Are you hearing this in my voice? Because, I’m not.

“I’m not him,” he says. “This is just all you have to go on.”

I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.

“…can you at least take your glasses off, or something?” I ask.

They’re gone. I’m almost ashamed of how I sigh with relief, even though it only really helps a little.

His stubble scratches my cheek a little as he leans in, and he kisses me right below my ear, and I realize I’m shaking _really_ hard. Did he find some morphine? Am I just having withdrawals again, is that all this is?

“I’m afraid it’s not gonna be that easy,” he smiles at me. “I’ve got this, okay? Just let yourself feel it.”

He kisses me deeply, and one of his hands snakes down my chest.

“This is what you need right now,” he murmurs.

His fingers wrap around my cock, and then they move slowly, purposefully. He kisses across my chest, swipes his tongue over a nipple, and now I do jump. Gradually, I reach up to touch him, run my hand over his hair, over his shoulder. He’s warm. His mouth finds my neck, and I feel the dull press of his teeth, not biting, just enough to notice. It feels good. I’m not shaking anymore.

“See?” he whispers. “It’s better this way, when you let me help you.”

Is he right? Is this what I need?

He lifts up and reaches for the dresser, opening the bottom drawer and moving some stuff around. There’s a bottle of lube in there that I don’t remember buying. When did that happen?

“One thing at a time, kid,” he laughs again.

I hear the click of the bottle cap as I’m rolling my eyes. When I feel his fingers, I flinch, because they’re _cold_. He looks at me like that should’ve been obvious. I start freaking out again, because what am I doing? Seriously, what am I _actually_ doing? Why can’t I just admit that I’m doing this to myself? Why do I have to keep pretending I’m not alone? Why is _this_ better than being alone?

“I told you not to overthink it,” he sighs, and then he lifts me up by the shoulder so he can kiss me again. Fuck, it feels so real.

I don’t flinch this time. He moves slowly, one cold, slick fingertip sliding in, moving steadily until it warms up, and then another. They curl, they _press_ , a little rough under the slipperiness, right where I need it. Because I do. I need this. He was right, he has this really awful tendency to be right, and the worst part is I don’t care anymore. I just need more. I’m so afraid I’m gonna do something and ruin it, and he’ll be gone, and I’ll be alone.

“Hey,” he says, “open your eyes.”

I didn’t realize they were closed. But they’re open now, and he’s looking right down at me, the light from overhead throwing shadows over his face.

“I’m not going anywhere. I just want you to feel good.” His fingers start moving faster. His other hand comes down and wraps around my cock again. “And believe me, I know what feels good.”

He isn’t lying. I can feel my back starting to twist up off the bed, and I have to fight to keep my eyes open. I don’t want to forget that it’s him, it’s me, it’s safe. Oh my god, it feels so good. Too good, actually. This is gonna be over real soon if we keep going.

My breath hisses in through my teeth as I sit up on my elbows. I can’t find the words, but he stops anyway. He knows. That’s why he doesn’t say anything. He wants me to tell him. Oh god, don’t make me say it. He can hear me think, he _knows_ what I want, so why do I have to say it? I’m gonna start shaking again.

“You’re never gonna get past this if you don’t say it out loud,” he slides his hand out of me.

“And that’s why we’re doing this?” I don’t really want to get angry, but it’s easier than dealing with whatever else I’m feeling right now. “You’re still trying to tell me this is supposed to help me?”

He doesn’t buy it. His hand slides up my leg, and it’s dry now – the magic of psychosis. 

“This works both ways,” he kisses my knee, where my leg is bent beside him. “We both know you want to be treated gently, for once, but if you keep doing this shit, it’s never gonna happen.”

He leans forward, his hands sliding languidly up my chest. God damn it, I’m starting to like the sight of him on top of me.

“I mean yeah,” he grins, “there’s also the part where I like what I’m seeing – I mean, have you looked in a mirror lately?”

That makes me laugh, but it’s a little less derisive now. He looks pointedly at me.

“So yeah, I want you,” he says, “but the thing about that is, I _am_ you. I get turned on by you because you want me to look at you that way. Thus far, I’ve been polite enough not to dig _too_ deeply into that one.”

My eyes pinch shut with a groan, and I turn away from him. He just told me he’s _not_ him, do we have to get into this right now?

“Real mood killer, huh?” he laughs softly. “Alright, come here.”

 He turns me back toward him, brushing my hair out of my face, and he leans down until his forehead touches mine.

“You want this,” he murmurs, “and under all the bullshit, you know it’s what you deserve. But you couldn’t handle that, so you shoved it all into me. Now come on, Elliot. Tell me what you want. Tell me what you deserve.”

Those are two very different things. I opt for the first one.

“Fuck me.”

Is it bad that I’m proud my voice only kind of shakes? Whatever. He shifts up, I feel the blunt head of his cock slide into me, slick and cold, and I’m not sure I can think anymore. I can barely breathe, and it only gets more difficult when I feel him start to move, a slow slide that does nothing but accelerate. I grab onto his arm. I pull him down closer. I have to feel him. I have to know he’s real.

“Just as real as you are.” I can feel his breath on my lips.

I grab him by the face and kiss him, and he tastes like smoke and salt. He starts stroking me again, out of rhythm with the way he’s fucking me, and my mind is nothing but static. I love it. It’s quiet, it’s shapeless, there’s nothing to think about, it’s just _good_. I’m not being quiet, though. I’m loud, and I’m even louder when he lets go of my mouth, when I feel him start kissing my neck again. His voice vibrates on my skin.

“So good,” he grunts, speeding up his hips. “ _Fuck,_ Elliot. Come on, talk to me. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

He expects me to use words? My first attempt just turns into a strangled sort of whine. Shit, my voice is gonna be wrecked when this is over.

“ _More_ ,” I finally manage.

He laughs again, but now it’s dark and low and it makes me shiver.

“You want more?” Everything he says is making me shiver. “Feels good, huh, kid?”

“ _Yes_ ,” my voice breaks on the word. “Oh, fuck yeah…”

Oh my god, this feels good. How does this feel so good? Why does it turn me on so much when I feel the scratch of his lips on my neck, or when I hear his voice so close to my ear? Jesus, I am going to _hate_ myself for this in the morning.

“Hey, stay with me.”

I feel him turn my head to face him, and then he’s kissing me hard, swallowing all the sounds I make. I get a hand on the back of his neck, because I want him close. I want to know he’s here.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he smiles down at me. “You look so pretty, all fucked out like this.”

I feel a sort of ache in my chest. I really hope it doesn’t mean what I think it does. 

He draws his hand over my cheek, the way I watched Tyrell do to him. He’s really pounding me, now. Fuck, it feels amazing. Up top, though, he’s all gentle, languid kisses and soft touches. Even when he takes my lip between his teeth, he does it slowly, pulling gently enough that it pops out of his mouth.

“I love you,” he sighs.

“No, you don’t,” I say it without thinking.

“Yes, I do,” he doesn’t miss a beat. “Why shouldn’t I? You’re so good, so nice and tight for me. You make such pretty noises.”

He presses a long, warm kiss to my cheek.

“You’re doing such a good job.”

I gasp loudly, feeling my back twitch upward. I’m gonna come, but I don’t want to. I can’t. Not like this. It’s too much. It’s too good. It can’t be real. It’s _not_ real, I know it’s not, but it feels so _fucking good_. My hands scramble for purchase across his back, trying to keep him here.

“Shh,” gentle kisses on my jaw, his tongue licking over my hammering pulse, “I’ve got you, it’s okay. Just feel it. Come on, kiddo, be a good boy and come for me.”

That’s the end of it. I’m gone. My voice is completely gone. It's so good, it’s too good, I’m not supposed to feel this good. He’s biting into my shoulder, moaning roughly, almost growling, and his hips are snapping into me. Things get blurry between us for a second. I can almost feel what he does, the taste of my own shoulder, the feeling of my skin under his hands. Don’t let me go. Don't let me go, please.

He’s still there, when I finally open my eyes. He’s just in the bathroom, getting a washcloth or something. I don't think I can move. I might actually fall asleep.

He hands me a tissue, and I clean myself off. He lies down on the bed beside me, leaning back on the wall. He looks tired. He’s running his hand through my hair. Feels nice.

"Get some sleep, kid," he leans over and kisses me lazily.

That’s not a bad idea. I barely have time for that thought before it pulls me under.


	2. Chapter 2

Where the hell did he go?

Tyrell's been here about half an hour. At least, that’s what I gather from looking at the clock. From about two minutes after I let him in, he’s been talking to Mr. Robot, about what, I have no idea. Ever since I came back, though, he's just been getting closer. Dude has no concept of personal space. Never has. He's practically breathing down my neck. And Mr. Robot is _nowhere to be found_.

He was right. He was absolutely fucking right. I am not anywhere near ready for the way Tyrell is looking at me right now. Like I’m some kind of…angel, or something. My heart is racing, any second now I’m gonna freak and ruin it. I want this, but I can’t handle it. It doesn’t feel real. It’s too good to feel real.

"Elliot?"

His hand is on my cheek, he looks so concerned. He keeps getting closer. He’s gonna kiss me. Oh fuck, he’s gonna kiss me.

“Are you alright?”

His thumb makes a lazy little back and forth path under my eye. God, he is gorgeous. He’s got that ethereal, frosty kind of beauty that makes him look unreal. This is not helping. I know he’s real, though. I don’t have the imagination to come up with something like him. At least, I hope I don’t. Oh my god, I’m crazy.

“Yeah,” I say, probably not convincingly.

“I understand.” He smiles softly. Does he? I hope not. “Last time was very much driven by the heat of the moment.”

Sure, why not.

“You’re no less astonishing to me now. Maybe more so. There’s more light here.”

His speech is just a little bit accented. Always has been. I’m focusing on this because if I pay attention to the words, I’m going to lose it.

I feel his hand moving down toward my neck. I can’t help but remember when he told me about how he strangled someone to death. I don’t really feel like dying, but I don’t think that’s what he’s after. He’s done it before, though. He liked it. This man is insane, and dangerous, and violent. Shit, no wonder Mr. Robot likes him so much.

…damn it, I thought that would draw him out.

“It’s still there,” his thumb swipes over the bite he left, “just barely. I am sorry, if that gave you any trouble. You have such a tempting throat.”

…oh. I don’t know why that in particular is what makes it click, but it does. He wants me. He wants _me_. The whole time he was with Mr. Robot, he thought he was with me. I could have him to myself, if I wanted to. Do I want to?

His eyes keep looking between my lips and my neck. It makes me want to kiss him. I guess I’d better, before Mr. Robot shows up and takes him from me.

My hands must be cold, because Tyrell feels warm. I always thought he’d feel cold, for some reason. But no, he’s warm, and he’s smooth, the skin of his face and his neck is soft, and his mouth is hot, and he tastes so _human_. I think I’m starting to shake, but whatever.

I still don’t know if I can handle the way he looks at me. His hand brushes my hair back, and he kisses me so softly, so gently, it makes no sense. Why is he being so nice? Why is he acting like I’m something you handle with care? Oh my god, Mr. Robot did this on purpose. He set this up just to prove I’m still not ready for it. Point fucking made, now where did he go?

“I never thought I’d meet someone like you,” Tyrell’s smile is kind of crooked, kind of manic. “I think I may be the only one who ever saw your true potential.”

There’s that pull in my chest. There’s his arms coming up around me. There’s his lips on mine, again.

“I can’t believe I found you,” and again, and again. “I love you so much.”

Please tell me you’re hearing this, too.

His hands are on my face, his forehead’s touching mine, and I can’t look at him, but I don’t have too many other options.

“Let me adore you.”

Holy fuck, this is too much.

I kiss him again just to break the eye contact. I’m really starting to like the way he kisses me. He’s walking me back to the bedroom. I cannot believe this is happening, or at the very least, I can’t believe it’s happening to me. I’m gonna screw this up, I just know it.

My hands don’t know what to do with the buttons of his shirt. They’re shaking, but it’s not too bad. His mouth is on my neck, and then my shoulder, and then every piece of me he uncovers. It’s like he can’t stop kissing me. I don’t know if I can handle too much more of this. Seriously, where’s Mr. Robot? I don’t even see him watching us.

I’m on my back, now, and I don’t know how I feel about it. He’s still kissing me, and he’s naked, we’re both naked, and there’s a lot of touching happening right now. This is definitely too much. I’m going to ruin it if something doesn’t change. I really don’t want to ruin it.

Sitting up is the easiest thing to do, and Tyrell moves back, so he’s on his knees. He looks at me curiously, almost like he’s afraid. That should be reassuring, I guess, but it’s not. I put a hand on his shoulder, run it down his arm. He’s got fantastic arms. Don’t get distracted, Elliot. What do I say? What do I do next? Where the _fuck_ is Mr. Robot?

“…I want to ride you.” It’s the best I can come up with, and it’s the truth.

His cheeks get really pink. His hand moves down my side, over the crease of my hip.

“Do you want me to get you ready?”

I really fucking do.

I grab the lube, and the way he’s smiling at me is doing some weird things to my heartbeat. He lays me back down, but he stays where he is. He slides the first one in, and his other hand travels up from my hip, to my chest, up to my shoulder. It’s just his free hand. That’s easier to handle. I wonder if he knows.

“Beautiful,” he almost sounds like he’s talking to himself. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

He moves slowly, and I can feel the little flick of his wrist. There’s grace to it, but at the same time it’s forceful. The second one slides in, and now there’s more force to it than grace. My eyes start to close. I let them.

His hand comes up to my neck again, and I can feel how it’s big enough to touch both sides of it. His next exhale is slow and shaking, and I feel his fingers squeeze a little bit on my skin.

“May I press, just a little?” he sounds a little breathless. “Just a little, I promise.”

I open my eyes to see him looking at me, his expression and his voice all heavy with lust.

“I won’t so much as leave a bruise,” he licks his lips, and I’m not sure if he knows it. “I’d never want to hurt that perfect neck. I just want to give it a squeeze.”

He’s breathing heavily, and for that matter, so am I. I really shouldn’t be turned on by the idea of Tyrell choking me, but that’s probably the least of my worries in that area. He just looks like he wants to do it so badly, and his expression is almost tender. Like choking somebody is an act of affection to him. Maybe this is why Mr. Robot likes him so much. He might actually be crazier than me.

“Yeah,” I nod.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

His hand pushes down, tightens, not enough to really hurt, but enough to seriously restrict my breathing. Then it presses down a little more, and I can’t breathe at all. I don’t fight it, but my body reflexively tries to inhale. Distantly, I can feel him sliding a third finger into me. My eyes squeeze shut. I grab the sheets to give my hands something to do. My head feels pressurized and hot. He lets go, and I inhale deeply. My windpipe aches for a second, but it subsides pretty quickly. …I liked that a lot more than I expected to.

When I look up at him, he’s leaning over me, flushed all the way to his neck.

“Please let me do that again.”

Wow, his fingers are thick. I didn’t have the chance to even notice that until now. They feel really good, though, especially with the way he’s looking down at me. I like this. I like seeing how much it turns him on. It’s easier to handle than the tenderness.

“One more.” I don’t want him getting carried away.

“ _Thank you_.” He looks like he might cry.

I do my best to keep my eyes open this time. It’s not easy, just from the pressure, but I mostly manage. He moves his fingers faster, looking at me with that dark, heavy gaze, and it feels really good, all of it. Just these points of contact, the pinch of my throat closing up, the push of my head into the pillow, the press of his fingers inside me. I need more than this. I need more of him.

He lets go again, and it takes me a minute to catch my breath. That was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

Damn, I thought Mr. Robot would have something to say about that.

“I’m ready,” I say, when I can.

He removes his hand, and I grab a condom from the dresser. I trade places with him, he slides it on, and once he’s slicked up I climb on top of him. I don’t think I’ve ever done it quite like this before. I like it, once I get going, just getting used to the feeling of him inside me. It’s nice, being on top of him. Not too much contact.

Tyrell’s hands come up to my hips, and he’s being pretty quiet, for the most part. He’s just watching me, holding onto me, and I can hear little hitches in his breath when I move. It almost looks like he’s trying to keep his eyes open. I try not to laugh. I’ve rendered him speechless. It’s a good look on him.

“ _Elliot_ ,” his voice is strained. “God, you feel good…”

So does he. I’ve got a rhythm, now, and a hand around my cock, slow and steady. I don’t want to rush it. I can barely believe this is happening, but it feels so fucking good. He sits up a little and reaches for me, and I meet him halfway. Shit, he’s being all sweet again, kissing me like you kiss your fiancé or something.

“I love you.”

He’s whispering. I can feel his breath on my lips. I wish I didn’t think he meant it. I wish I could argue with him. He’s kissing me again, slowly, deeply, _gently_. Why does he have to be so fucking honest? I always figured he’d be the type to use you and leave, but this? This is _romantic_. What makes him want to do this?

“I wish you could see yourself,” both hands slide up my sides. “You gorgeous thing. Why are you holding your voice back? It’s okay. I want to hear you.”

I finally notice how tight my throat is, in a way that has nothing to do with when he was choking me. I give a sort of shout as it springs loose, and he kisses my shoulder. I feel his voice when he moans.

“Just like that,” he leans back again, and his hands go back down to my hips. “God, you make me feel so _good_.”

It feels so real. It can’t be, but it is. I have to shut my eyes. I can’t take the way he’s looking at me. I’m so turned on now, I can feel my own heartbeat, but every time he talks, it’s like he’s trying to crack me open. He can’t mean it, but he makes it so obvious that he does. I shouldn’t like it. I shouldn’t expose that nerve. But I still want more. I want to feel it, as much as I can before Mr. Robot comes in and takes it away from me.

“I’m not taking anything from you, kiddo. Not tonight.”

When the FUCK did he get here.

My eyes fly open. I can feel the heat of him behind me, the hum of his voice on my neck. I can see his arm come around my waist, completely bare, moving my hand out of the way. He’s naked too, isn’t he?

“I’ve got this,” he’s so close to my ear, I can feel the scratch of his stubble on my neck, but I don’t feel his glasses. “Don’t worry, he won’t know the difference.”

He takes hold of my cock, twisting his hand up and down, and I feel a shudder go up my back. I feel him kiss my neck, making humming sounds into my ear, and I let my head fall to the side a little. Tyrell gasps softly, squeezing my hips, and his eyes are fixed on me.

“Elliot…” His voice is all low again, like it was when he choked me.

“Come on,” Robot’s teeth nip at my earlobe, “let’s put on a show.”

“ _Oh_ , fuck,” I gasp, my hips jerking forward. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to keep my eyes open.

“That good, huh?” Robot laughs, licks a hot stripe up the back of it and then blows on it. Yep, my eyes are shut. “Come on Elliot, fuck him. I want to see it, when you make him come.”

His other hand comes up around me and scratches at my chest. I give another shout, I start moving faster, and I feel Tyrell’s nails dig into my skin a little. He moans loudly, and whatever he says next, it’s not in English.

“He says he wants more,” Robot kisses the corner of my neck, wet and open-mouthed. “You know, he thinks this is all him. Maybe let’s not burst his bubble.”

He bites down, and I’m almost ashamed of how loudly I moan, and then he sucks, harder and harder, and I just get louder. Tyrell just keeps saying my name over and over, and I can feel his hips moving under me. When Robot’s mouth lifts up with a loud pop, Tyrell is panting, and it’s fast enough that I can tell he’s close.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous,” Robot kisses where he just bit, and I gasp. “He can’t see it, but when you look in the mirror, it’s gonna be there.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” I start curling forward, but he pulls me back up. He’s kissing my jaw, down my neck, over my shoulder. I make myself open my eyes, because I want to see Tyrell. His hands are gripping hard at my hips, his hair is halfway in his eyes, and he’s looking at me like…

“Like he’s desperate for you,” Robot’s breathing is even rougher than mine. His hand starts stroking me faster. “Like he can’t get enough of you. Feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” I don’t even hesitate. I can’t, not when I’m this close.

“ _Oh_ , Elliot, don’t stop…” Tyrell’s eyes start to shut.

“Almost there,” Robot starts pressing soft little kisses around the bite, stinging pinpricks that hit me like lightning. “You want to come, don’t you, kiddo?”

“ _Yes_ ,” I lean back into him. “Don’t let me go. _Don’t let me go_.”

Tyrell’s hands grip tightly at my hips, and he gasps. His eyes pinch shut, and I can see him starting to come, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Robot turns my head to face him, kisses me just once while Tyrell isn’t looking. “I’ve got you.”

I say something I know I'll regret later, and then all I can do is shout.

I’m not usually this loud, but the sounds just tear out of me. I feel it all the way up my spine, with Robot’s hand working me through it, his teeth in my shoulder again, Tyrell scratching me with his nails. It feels so good, everywhere they touch me, every sound they make. It shouldn’t feel this good, but it does. It feels good, and it feels real, and I can’t let myself forget this. No matter what I feel like tomorrow, I can’t let myself forget.

I try not to hit Tyrell too hard when I fall forward, but the only real place to put my hands is his chest. He’s still catching his breath, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Robot’s brushing my hair back, getting it out of my eyes. He’s smiling.

Tyrell’s hand comes up to my cheek, and his smile looks a little sleepy.

“You…” he sighs softly. “You’re perfect.”

I have no idea what to say to that. My head feels a little fuzzy, if I’m being honest.

“Just kiss him,” Robot says gently.

I do that, and it seems to work. I lift up off of him so we can clean up, and already I can feel the faint sting of too-much-contact starting to wind up in me. But, I’m smiling too.

While he’s in the bathroom, Robot pulls a tissue I also don’t remember buying out of the drawer. When I’m done with it, he sits down beside me and gets an arm around my shoulder, kissing my forehead and then my lips.

“You did so well,” he says with a smile.

While I can, I kiss him again.

“Thanks,” I say, hoping it’s soft enough not to make it through the bathroom door.

Tyrell can’t stay the night, but on his way out he gives me what might be the longest kiss I’ve ever experienced. I pretty much collapse into bed afterwards, my brain washed out with static, an overheated drive full of unreadable data. Mr. Robot is still there, and even though my skin is starting to hurt, it feels good when he gets close to me. I like the feeling of his chin on my shoulder, his arm wrapped around me from behind again. Our legs are tangled under the covers.

“You see what happens when you actually listen to me?” he asks.

“Shut up,” I elbow him in the stomach, but my heart isn’t really in it.

“Love you too,” he laughs softly, and I still love how it sounds.  

“Don’t leave,” I mumble.

He turns and kisses my cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere.”


End file.
